Chameleon: Changes
by Alexannah
Summary: Series of snapshots into the mind of Albus Dumbledore during the first five books. Companion to Emeralds and Green Light and doesn't include HBP or DH. ADMM
1. Revelations of the Heart

**_Summary_:** There's more to Albus Dumbledore than meets the eye

**_Rating_:** T

**_Warnings_:** Other Sensitive Topic

**_Disclaimer_:** I wish I owned JKR's lovely creations, but I don't. Stand back, lawyers!

**_Author's Notes_:** This fic's dedicated to my little bro.

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**Changes**

Chapter One: Revelations of the Heart

By Alexannah

"_One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books_." **– Albus Dumbledore** PS/SS pg 157 (UK edition)

"What do you see when you look in the Mirror?"

The question surprises me, but thankfully I do not show it. I do not tell him the real reason – although I _do_ long for socks at Christmas. But that is not what I see in the Mirror.

I have not let myself look for a long time. I suppose I am scared of what I might see. Maybe it has changed since the last time I looked. Maybe it has not. However, curiosity triumphs over my common sense, and when Harry has left the classroom, I move forward.

For a few moments my own reflection stares back at me. I know I am doing the wrong thing, but I cannot step away.

My mind wanders to my last encounter with the Mirror. It must have been around twenty years ago now… yet it seems like only yesterday. Like now, I had trouble restraining myself, and when I saw what it showed me, it took a great deal of effort to step away.

Harry is not the only one to see deceased loved ones in the Mirror of Erised.

Unlike Harry, I knew the woman staring from inside the glass. Although I hadn't seen her for a very long time – over a century. I still remember what happened.

I was the oldest of the three of us. Aberforth was five years younger than me, and my sister was born the year I started at Hogwarts. Although, as the oldest, I was supposed to be the responsible one, I never really knew them very well. When I was at school, Aberforth wrote (or tried to), but Aminta wasn't old enough. The only times I saw her were the school holidays.

Despite this, I did love her. So did Aberforth. We were both rather protective of her, I suppose. Unfortunately, so were our mother and father. Aminta wasn't spoiled, but lived a rather suffocating life, and longed to be independent and free of her protective family; which we guess was the reason behind her actions.

She ran away. It wasn't as simple as that, though. She got into an argument with our father. A young man who lived nearby asked her to marry her, and she wanted to. But none of us really thought he was suitable. Looking back, I think we all over-reacted. She was only nineteen, but she was old enough to make her own decisions.

After a whole week rowing over the subject, she packed up and left. We all thought she'd be back soon, but she didn't return.

After a couple of weeks, she sent an owl to me. She told me that she and the young man were married, and I was not to tell our parents her whereabouts. I passed on the message that she was alright, but I told my parents that she hadn't told me where she was.

She sent private owls for a while, but they grew less frequent and eventually we lost touch. The years went by, and one day, nine years after she had run away, we got news she had died.

I never found out the details.

* * *

My wandering mind now back in the present, my reflection in the Mirror changes. I feel like I am looking through a window into a room.

Aminta is nowhere to be seen.

Most people find that the Mirror holds a still image; that is, more like a wizard photograph. It moves, but the actions are not important. But this is not always the case.

It is Christmas. There is a splendid tree, and presents clumped around it. A roaring fire is in the grate, and a cat is curled up lazily on the hearth-rug.

I am there. I look no different. Maybe a little tipsy, but it is me all the same. But I am not alone.

A dark-haired eleven-year-old boy is sitting cross-legged on the rug, next to the cat. His face is turned away from me, staring at the tree. As the mirror me moves, he turns his head, and I gasp.

It's Harry.

The me in the room is picking up presents, and Harry is scrambling over to take them. There is something different about him. Something I can't quite place…

The two figures in the mirror are laughing. They look so happy, so content.

That's it. Harry's eyes are different. The real-world Harry's eyes look so sad and haunted, even when he laughs. I have not had a huge amount of opportunity to examine them, but it is enough.

But in the Mirror, they have none of that. They're happy.

I feel a tear trickle down my face. I realize I am standing right up against the glass, my hand pressed on the cold surface.

As Harry moves again, I notice what else is different. His scar is gone.

I force myself to step away, and the image fades from the Mirror. But somehow, the laughing, carefree Harry is still imprinted in my mind.

My life changed on Halloween 1981. I didn't even realize at first.

But now I know what my greatest desire really is. It is to see Harry free.

But I know, as I leave the classroom and head for my chambers, the Christmas scene still playing in my vision, that is one thing that I doubt will ever be.

**TBC ...**

**_Note about reviewing:_**_ Please, for the love of Merlin, **do not** review simply to tell me to **update**! I get it all the time and am sick of it. **If **you review, **please** say what it is you did or didn't like, and bulk out your review as much as possible. Make it worth the review alert, please! As always I love guesses where the story is headed and what I'm going to do next, and helpful suggestions are always welcomed. Don't flame.  
Thanks. _


	2. When Fears Become Reality

**_Summary_:** There's more to Albus Dumbledore than meets the eye

**_Disclaimer_:** Not mine ... NOOOO!

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**Chapter Two: When Fears Become Reality**

By Alexannah

"_Not the Stone boy, you – the effort involved nearly killed you. For a moment there, I was afraid it had._" **– Albus Dumbledore** PS/SS pg 215 (UK edition)

I'm getting too old for this.

I barely draw breath as I sprint across the Hogwarts grounds. My heart pounds so fast I fear it may burst right out of my chest. Every breath I take sends spasms of pain through me.

Please don't let me be too late.

The Entrance Hall. I almost run straight into Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. One look at their scared faces tells me enough.

"Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?"

I am amazed I can even speak. The two nod, white-faced. Fear clenches round me so tightly I think I will suffocate.

I'm coming Harry, hold on…

I don't think I have ever run so fast. Students stare as I ascend three sets of stairs, several at a time. I used to be able to do that without batting an eyelid in my youth. Now, however, I know my knees will be paying dearly for this later.

The third floor.

Don't let me be too late. Please…

Fluffy and the Devil's Snare are easy. I am lucky in Filius' challenge – the blue-winged key is flying nearest to me. I summon up the strongest Time-Freezing Charm I can manage for Minerva's chessmen, and the troll is already knocked out. I don't hesitate in Severus' room – I kept a small vial of the right potion back in case of an emergency. I swallow and shudder, then make for the black flames.

The scene on the other side makes my heart stop.

* * *

Quirrell crumples on the ground, lifeless. I shove the body aside and grab Harry. He is still. Too still…

_Albus, what have you done?_

"Harry."

I pull the Stone from his grasp – he is clutching it so tightly it was cutting him. It falls to the floor from his suddenly slack hand.

"Harry, wake up. Please wake up…"

Nothing.

He's not dead. He can't be dead. _Please don't let him be dead!_

"Harry!"

I fumble clumsily for his pulse, and I think my own heart stops. I can't feel a thing.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening. He was only eleven! He was –

"Harry, wake up!"

I don't think he's breathing.

I feel something wet on my face, and realize they're tears. I've watched Harry all his life. I know him better than I know myself. Now it's like a part of me has been ripped out of existence.

He's so pale.

I gather him up in my arms and try to wake him again, sobbing over the words.

"H-Harry, wake up. Wak-ke up! Please!"

When I get no response, I bury my face in his hair and cry. I cry for the loss of a life who never knew love; who had so much to live for. I cry for the loss of the one boy of his age witches and wizards would mourn all over the world.

And I cry for Harry.

**TBC …**

**_Note about reviewing:_**_ Please, for the love of Merlin, **do not** review simply to tell me to **update**! I get it all the time and am sick of it. **If **you review, **please** say what it is you did or didn't like, and bulk out your review as much as possible. Make it worth the review alert, please! As always I love guesses where the story is headed and what I'm going to do next, and helpful suggestions are always welcomed. Don't flame.  
Thanks. _


	3. Hot Chocolate

**_Summary_:** There's more to Albus Dumbledore than meets the eye

**_Disclaimer_:** Unfortunately for me (but fortunately for the characters) I don't own them.

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**Chapter Three: Hot Chocolate**

By Alexannah

"_But I shudder to think – if Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate, who knows what might have…_" **Minerva McGonagall**, CoS

"Albus, you look stressed."

I mentally groan. I suppose after nearly fifty years of marriage I should have learnt that Minerva knows when I am feigning sleep.

"How did you know I was awake?" I ask, sitting up.

"Several things. Firstly, you're normally still awake at this time, running back and forth from your office and generally worrying about things. Secondly, you never sleep on your back. And third, you snore."

"I do not!"

"I know. I just wanted to see your reaction."

"Hmph." I watch her for a few minutes, and then I say, "What are you here for?"

Minerva sighs. "I thought you might want to see the letter from Paula, seeing as it's addressed to both of us." She hands me an envelope. Paula is Minerva's niece – well actually, she's her cousin's daughter, but as Minerva has always been an only child it's not unfair that Paula calls her her aunt. She calls me Uncle Albus too – a title I've always liked more than I let on, even more now I know I'll never be called "Dad".

But that's a long story.

Minerva lets me read the letter in peace. When I get to the second paragraph, I realise why she acted so oddly when she received it this morning. Paula's expecting a child, and is over the moon about it.

I suppose I should be happy for her.

The clock chimes as I finish the letter. I put it back in its envelope and make my way into my living-room, where I know Minerva is waiting. She's been doing that a lot recently.

"Can we talk, Albus?" she asks softly as I enter. She's hunched up on the sofa, staring into the fire embers.

I sit down beside her and put my arm around her. She leans on my shoulder and I see, in the light of the dying fire, that she's been crying.

"Why is life so unfair?" she whispers.

I know what she means. After years trying to have children, we thought we'd finally have a family, after we'd given up hope. But Minerva miscarried over the summer. We're no longer together now – she needs her space.

I feel more tears leaking onto my shoulder as she continues to cry gently. We may be separated, but she still turns to me for comfort. It sometimes makes it awkward. I suppose I'm the closest to knowing what she's going through, but I find it difficult to help her.

"I'm sorry, Minnie," I whisper.

"You d-don't understand."

She's right, I don't. "I know."

"Lucky you."

The quiet that follows is less peaceful than it was the last time. Now I feel like I should be saying something, but I have lost the words.

Minerva shifts her head more to the side and sighs down my neck. "It's all right for you. You've got Harry."

I freeze, confused. "Harry's not -" I don't know how to finish.

"You feel like he is," Min says quietly.

Silence falls again as I contemplate her words. I have never thought of it like that before, but I suppose she's right. I do think of Harry like that. My blood boils just thinking about him suffering in any way. I want to curse anyone who has so much as given him a hostile glance. Unfortunately, with the Duelling Club incident, the list is mounting fiercely. Now it covers almost the whole school population.

Minerva sniffs, but doesn't move to get a handkerchief.

* * *

The halls are still as we quietly make our way down to the kitchens. I insisted on taking Minerva down for a hot chocolate. At first she refused, saying that she didn't want one and what would people think if they saw us together in the middle of the night, but I insisted. She hasn't said a word the whole journey. I think she's still miffed at me.

We avoid the more talkative portraits in the hope that we don't get noticed. Minerva is right about one thing – if someone did see us together, people would talk. And for once, the reason we are together is perfectly innocent.

The first floor is the worst, but we see no-one – at least, until we reach the top of the stairs.

"_Albus!_"

What looks like a toppled statue is laying half-way down the stairs. My breath catches as I hurry down to it.

"It's the Creevey boy," I say softly, looking into his face – which is mostly hidden behind his infamous camera.

"Petrified?" Minerva gasps.

"I think so."

I know so, but I do not want to sound so final.

_How is this happening?_

Minerva stoops and picks up something next to him. "Albus, look." It's a bunch of grapes. At first I'm perplexed, but then I remember Colin is a huge fan of Harry's.

It could have been the death of him.

I straighten up and look around, half-expecting to see Tom standing watching, frustrated at my interference. He's not there, but that doesn't stop me thanking my lucky stars that I managed to persuade Minerva to come downstairs.

I think she's thinking along the same lines. Minnie has a tendency to get rather attached to her Gryffindors – not that I'm much better with Harry. Still, it makes times like this harder on her.

"We need to take him to Poppy. You take that end…"

The hot chocolate forgotten, we retrace our steps. The progress is slower that I think is wise. Hopefully, with my presence there is unlikely to be something else happen to Mr Creevey.

I catch sight of Harry lying still as we enter the Hospital Wing. Minerva runs to get Poppy after we heave Colin onto a free bed. I look back at Harry, and wonder what is going through his mind now.

I doubt it has anything to do with Tom. To my knowledge, Harry doesn't know about the last time the Chamber was opened. Hopefully, this year he won't try and do anything stupid. After that terrifying moment last June, I wished I had not encouraged him.

Min reappears with Poppy right behind her. I tell her Minerva found Colin on the stairs, and she tells her about the grapes.

Yes, he was definitely Petrified.

Better Petrified than dead.

An idea occurring to me, I prize the camera out of Colin's grip. To my surprise, the inside is melted. I suppose I should not have been so shocked – Tom is hardly the one to leave traces of evidence around.

"What does this mean, Albus?" Minerva breathes.

I don't want to answer. I know what is happening.

"But Albus – surely – who -"

"The question is not _who_," I think aloud, "The question is _how_…"

Poppy says nothing on our contradicting explanations as to who found Colin, but bids us an uneasy goodnight. Minerva is more than ready to return to her rooms, and I don't blame her. She stays silent, lost in thought, as we make our way back along the corridor, until we part. I know tomorrow she will be quizzing me on my cryptic messages, but for now she just says, "Good night, Albus."

I stare after her. Is it just me, or do I detect a hint of animosity behind the parting? Her words from earlier echo in my head as I ascend my stairs – "_You've got Harry_." "_Lucky you_." "_Why is life so unfair?_"

Am I imagining things, or is Minerva ever so slightly jealous?

**TBC …**

**A/N:** Albus and Minerva _do_ contradict each other in that scene in canon. I thought it was a mistake at first, but being a diehard AD/MM fan, I'm now guessing it's a sign.  
Please review! Alexannah xXx

**Review Responses**

**szinhaz:** Well, now you know.

**DuShuZhi:** Why, thank you (_blushes_)

**GryffindorSeeker4:** Why does everyone always tell me to update? Thanx for reviewing!

**A note to all EaGL readers:** I am very almost done on the next chapter – and this time I really am! Unless my computer crashes or something, you should expect chapter 5 in the next few days. While you're waiting, check out my other fics!

**_Note about reviewing:_**_ Please, for the love of Merlin, **do not** review simply to tell me to **update**! I get it all the time and am sick of it. **If **you review, **please** say what it is you did or didn't like, and bulk out your review as much as possible. Make it worth the review alert, please! As always I love guesses where the story is headed and what I'm going to do next, and helpful suggestions are always welcomed. Don't flame.  
Thanks. _


	4. A Morale Booster

**Chapter Four: A Morale-Booster**By Alexannah

"_You know, what this school needs now is a morale-booster. Wash away the memories of last term! I won't say any more just now, but I think I know just the thing …_"  
**– Gilderoy Lockhart**, CoS pg 176 (UK Edition)

At the beginning of every week, I run a mental schedule in my mind. It rarely goes to plan.

This week, for instance, would have been a typical week for a suspended Hogwarts headmaster. Checking how the school was running and long hours of research to try and find any way at all Tom could be opening the Chamber of Secrets. But like I said, my schedules rarely go to plan.

For one thing, this week the word 'suspended' was removed from my title. For another, Harry went into the Chamber after Ginevra Weasley. It also happened to be my wedding anniversary – the first one since Minerva and I separated.

My talk with Harry left me unusually exhausted. It's left me with uncomfortable memories of the time last year, when I thought I'd lost him. It still pains me to think about that, even though it's in the past. When I received the message from the governors, it was all I could do to stop myself banging my head on the desk. Tom is clever. I knew he must have taken Ginny for a reason, and I knew perfectly well what that reason was. Harry, naturally, went headlong into the trap, like he is. I wonder if he will ever learn, or if it's part of his nature to run straight into danger.

Maybe I should have been a bit harder on him. I thought I'd learned my lesson last year, when my encouragement nearly got him killed. Honestly, I felt like spanking him with Godric's sword and crying over him at the same time. Fortunately for him, I managed to refrain from both.

It is a truly remarkable feat how he makes me so frustrated with him and proud at the same time. I overheard the scene with Dobby and Lucius Malfoy. Harry has a good heart.

I don't have much time to dwell on the matter. Cornelius Fudge comes storming up to the school when the release papers for Hagrid arrive.

"What is the meaning of these, Dumbledore?" he says sharply, slamming them down on my desk. I take them and look at them. I know what they say, considering I wrote them in the first place.

"I'd have thought the meaning was perfectly clear, Cornelius. Hagrid is cleared of all charges, and is free to leave Azkaban."

I take a moment to survey him in interest. I think this is the first time I've seen Cornelius angry with me. Irritated at times, yes – normally something trivial, like the fact that he constantly has to remind him that he doesn't like sherbet lemons. (I know this perfectly well. But tastes change, and it's always worth asking in case he's changed his mind.) But this is the first time he's blown up at me about something big. We've had our disagreements in the past of course, but normally the man practically swamps me with owls on a daily basis. It doesn't half annoy Minerva. And me too, come to that.

I'm getting off track here. Back to Cornelius. His face is turning slowly purple as he rants about there being no proof that Voldemort was involved at all, or that Hagrid was not the culprit. I decide to let him let off steam for a few minutes, and then raise a hand to shut him up – er, to quieten him.

"Cornelius," I say calmly. What I want to continue with is something along the lines of, "You narrow-minded idiot, you haven't even asked if there is any evidence to support what I have told you, you just assume as always!" But I hardly ever say what I want to say. This time I assure him gently but firmly that we have an eye-witness who heard Tom Riddle's confession, which only confirmed many suspicions and theories I had built during the year; suspicions and theories, that, I might add, I built from my knowledge of Tom Riddle as a person. I concluded my speech with a reminder that I knew Tom from the age of eleven, whereas Cornelius has never met him at all, therefore (in not so many words) I know what I am talking about.

That shut him up.

* * *

I have honestly no idea why Minerva is cold-shouldering me. Just a quick "Welcome back, Albus" was all I received. I did not expect an over-enthusiastic welcome; I expected it to be slightly awkward because of the time of the year. But still.

I wonder if it is because of the memories. Perhaps she is just finding it easier dealing without me for the moment. The situation is so difficult; I never know what to do. I have not have an awful lot of time to give thought to it, but I have no idea whether to get her anything for our anniversary. She did not react well to her Valentine at all.

It was not even meant to be a particularly extravagant one. I thought she would appreciate _something_ but I did not want to overdo it. But then Gilderoy and his blasted Valentines celebrations made everything get out of hand. He somehow got wind of the fact that I was sending Minerva roses, and decided to get his "cherubs" to present them to her in the middle of the Great Hall playing their harps and singing. I was not a witness to this, but I found out later Minerva burst into tears and fled to her rooms. Students were talking about it for weeks.

Hardly what I would call a morale-booster, Gilderoy. Still, he won't be arranging any more celebrations like these after that backfired spell. I would thank him if it were not for the fact that he would not remember what it was he did that I was thanking him for.

On the other hand, we now need a new Defence teacher. Again.

But never mind that for now. Term ends tomorrow. Minerva is going to stay with her niece straight after the students leave, so I have only one day to decide what to do about our anniversary. After Valentine's Day I have gone off the idea of giving her a simple bunch of flowers. I would not know what to write in a card. She's not really into chocolates.

Sitting by the lakeside usually inspires me, all the natural beauty surrounding Hogwarts, but today I can't think. In addition to my present-giving block, I am also painfully aware of the amount of work that still needs doing for the end of term.

Ouch! Someone just fell over me.

"Sorry!" said a voice, and I realised it was Harry. "Oh, hi, sir. Are you all right?"

My heart warms immediately. Harry has that effect on people. "I am fine, thank you, Harry."

"Okay." He doesn't sound as if he completely believes me, but runs off to join two figures further along the lakeside who I assume are Mister Weasley and Miss Granger.

It briefly crosses my mind that they should be packing, before it occurs to me that Miss Granger probably made sure all three of them were packed days ago. I chuckle softly.

Maybe I should ask somebody else for advice on what to get Minerva. But who to ask? Nobody I know has been in this situation. I still love her, I want to give her _something_ – but something without strings attached.

Watching the staff-dubbed Golden Trio absent-mindedly, a probably mad idea pops into my head. Well, why not? I think as I make my way over to them. I have asked advice from stranger sources. I mean, if I asked Grindelwald what NEWTs he thought I should take, I should have no problem here.

"Miss Granger," I say, "might I have a word?"

All three are rather taken aback. "Of course, sir," she replies and the two of us retreat a few feet from the boys.

"I would like to ask you for some advice," I say. Her eyes widen and I think she is flattered. "You are female …"

"Well spotted, sir," she says, then claps a hand to her mouth in horror. I laugh and she relaxes.

"What kind of gift," I ask, "would I give to a lady to show that I care and am there for her, but does not – well – signify romance as such?"

"You mean, with no pressure?" Hermione queried.

"Exactly."

She took a moment to consider. "Well, if it was me, I think the best thing would be to not get her an actual gift. Do something nice for her instead, something she won't expect. Cook her a nice meal or something like that."

"Who's the lucky lady, sir?" says a voice, and I realise that Harry and Ron have crept up on us. Hermione glares at Ron and I can't help but chuckle again.

"I'm not sure about 'lucky', Mr. Weasley, and I am certainly not divulging the details of my private life with you." I look at him sternly, but from the look on his face I can tell he knows perfectly well I am not serious.

"Well, good luck, Professor." I smile at Harry in thanks.

"Oh, and you three … this is just between us, understand?"

They all nod, and I take that as my cue to leave.

I don't know why I did not just ask advice from one of the female staff members. Maybe I used the question as an excuse to talk to them. I enjoy watching Harry with his friends – he always seems so much more relaxed and happy. Hopefully he will get more of a chance to enjoy himself next year …

**TBC …**


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